


The Saints Are Coming

by oleanderedits



Category: Boondock Saints (Movies), The Walking Dead (TV), The Walking Dead - All Media Types
Genre: Crossover, Daryl is Murphy (not all chapters), Gen, Off Screen Death, Religious Themes, walking saints
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-02
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-24 10:01:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4915207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oleanderedits/pseuds/oleanderedits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The many ways the MacManus Brothers met the Georgia Survivors. Each chapter is/will be a standalone short story. Will remain marked 'complete' despite updates due to it being a collection of standalones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Only God Can Claim a Soul (Claimers; Season 4)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The MacManus Brothers Meet Daryl while running with the Claimers.

_And shepherds we shall be_

 

He was alone in the middle of the old crossroad when they found him. Sitting. Still. Looking for all the world like he might be a statue.

Joe was the one to approach him, saying “Well lookit here” to get his attention while the rest of the group formed a loose circle around the man. Weapons up and at the ready, of course. The man didn't react to the words or action of the others and Joe stepped forward, leaning down with one hand out. _That_ was when the guy moved.

He threw a good right hook, catching Joe in the nose and knocking him down. Then he was up on his feet, crossbow raised and aimed squarely at Joe's head.

“Dammit hold up!” Joe snapped. He was talking to both his people and the new guy.

Len grinned, eyeing the man's back, “I'm claiming the vest. I like 'em wings.”

“Fuck you,” Murphy snapped. “You don't get ta claim nothin' 'less he's dead.”

Joe nodded, “That's right, Len. You know the rules.” He took his time standing up, checking his nose first. His fingers were bloody when he pulled them away and it had him smiling. Joe started talking to him. The man maintained a wary stance for several tense minutes before Joe offered his name.

A moment after, the man offered his softly, “Daryl.”

The group as a whole lowered their weapons and Connor swatted his brother in the side, grinning at him as Irish tumbled from his lips, “[I like him.]”

“[What? Already? I know there's slim pickings in the zombie apocalypse, brother, but you got to learn to keep it in your pants,]” Murphy laughed back, ducking another, much harder, swing.

Connor holstered his baretta, shrugging as he got serious again, “[You saw the way he was holding himself. Didn't take his eyes or bow off Joe until he got a name out of him. He's got manners.]”

“Aye, he does. Like that m'self,” Murphy agreed and switched back to English, grinning at the others who were not really used to them talking in random foreign languages yet. The group was already starting to move again, following the tracks. Murphy and Connor shared a look before jogging over to walk on either side of their newest travel compainion.

“Hello there,” Connor waved while Daryl eyed him from under wary eyes, head down just enough to leave most of his face in shadow. “Name's Connor. And that fellow over there is me brother, Murphy.”

“I'm the pretty one,” Murphy offered.

“Aye, he is,” Connor agreed with a grin. “But that just means I got all the brains.”

Murphy protested with a slap to the back of his brother's head as he stepped around behind Daryl and the two devolved into a quick, but fairly brutal match. Which Connor won. Neither of them caught the small smile that ghosted briefly at Daryl's lips when he glanced back to make sure they weren't going to kill each other.

 

_For thee my lord for thee_

 

Connor and Murphy took turns sleeping. They didn't really trust the men they were with, no matter what rules they kept spouting. They'd only joined the group a couple days before they ran into Daryl. Stuck with them because there was safety in numbers and truthfully, they'd needed that safety. They didn't exactly know the area.

Eunice had managed to get them transferred to a slightly less secure prison after two years of good behavior at the Hoag. Well, people Eunice knew, technically. But she was the one that funded it. She was good about writing to Connor. Particularly about 'art'. Unfortunately things went bad pretty quickly after that and the last strings she'd been able to pull before communication was lost entirely, was to have a couple of friendly guards get them out of the hole during an early evacuation. The guards had actually stayed with them, for a few months. But time and fatigue and several run-ins with zombies whittled that group down to just the brothers. They needed the security the group provided, however thin that security was.

Murphy was the one awake and on watch when Daryl rose. The sun hadn't come up yet, but the guy rolled himself off the ground and under the camp's barbed wire alarm lines like he did it every morning. Didn't make a sound, didn't disturb the cans. Just slipped on out. Murphy had to admire that. It was a kind of quiet and stealth he and Connor had to learn the hard way. Leaves made too much noise under their boots. But that man? Daryl? He was like a ghost.

The rest of the camp, Connor included, rose hours later when the cans started banging together from a Walker stumbling into the barbed wire and getting caught on it. There wasn't any worry from anyone about it. A little grumbling, maybe, but no real worry.

One of the others, 'Scruffy' as the brothers had nick-named him, muttered an “I got it” and quickly took it out. Then pissed on it.

Connor took his sweet time yawning and stretching and scratching at himself while exchanging a long look with Murphy. The two's quiet feedback was interrupted when Len snorted and started yapping, “Looks like that Robin Hood cat cut out on us after all. I didn't think he had the sack to go out on his own.”

“He didn't,” Murphy said, pointing to Daryl's things. He'd moved them closer to his and his brother's things after the man lit out of there just to make sure they didn't get lost in the morning shuffle. “He left a couple hours ago while you were getting your beauty sleep.”

“Not that it did you any good,” Connor piped up. “Still as ugly as you were yesterday.”

“More, I'd say.”

Len gave them a glare and headed off into the woods. It didn't escape Murphy's notice that the man headed off in the same direction Daryl did. He felt better about having touched what wasn't his after that. Len wasn't a good man. Daryl, though... Murphy felt confident he was a good man. Though if pressed, he wouldn't have been able to say why.

 

_Power hath descended forth from thy hand_

 

Daryl was clearly getting ready to take an old car as his sleeping spot for the night, had pulled the cover off it and everything, when Billy came up and said “Claimed”. He kicked Daryl's bag away from the front tire for good measure. Dan called out 'claimed' for the old mattress that lay off in one corner. Len waited until Daryl was heading toward a pickup truck to toss his bag in and pointedly call out his own 'claimed'. As if taunting Daryl with it.

The brothers had already claimed their own car, doing so as soon as they heard Billy call out. Connor slapped Murphy on the shoulder lightly as Daryl started to lay down on the concrete floor. They shared a look and Murphy spoke up, “Hey. Redneck. Daryl. You can sleep over here if you want. Me brother an' me, we'll be sharin' the back seat anyway. Front's all yours.”

The rest of the group were giving them the stink eye immediately. Sharing isn't want they did. They claimed. But even Joe couldn't speak out against it. If the brothers wanted to share what they'd claimed, that was their choice.

Daryl caught the looks and understood that the brothers had just done something differently than what was expected of those who claimed. The two shared with each other. That was normal enough. Package deal and all. But it was just each other. No one else. Until now, apparently.

It didn't take him long to decide to stand up and join the two. Front seat would be more comfortable than concrete. And much as the brothers were noisy, he didn't think they were bad people.

Len wasn't having it, though. He didn't want Daryl getting comfortable. He made a bit of scene, going through his bag in the back of the truck and cursing a couple times, ending with a loud, "Christ!"

“Hey! Don't take the Lord's name in vain,” Connor barked at him as he started over to their car, eyes on Daryl. The brothers slid off the trunk where they'd been sitting and Daryl stopped in his tracks to stare the man down.

Len didn't make to hit him, though. He stopped a couple feet away and demanded loud enough for the whole group to hear him, “Give it here.”

“Why don't you step back,” Daryl retorted, chin rising and his free hand waving the asshole off.

“My half was in the bag. Now it's gone,” Len bit out. “Now ain't nobody around here interested in half a damn cottontail 'cept you. Ain't that right?”

Daryl jeered, “you the only one still thinking about that crap,” at the same time Murphy put himself between them, “Oh shut it. He didn't steal nothin' from you. Can't steal what you give willingly.”

“What are you yammering about?” Len turned to Murphy as Connor came up next to his brother. The two were now blocking Daryl from being easy access to the rest of the Claimers. All of whom had gathered around to listen and do what they agreed to if there was rule breaking involved.

“You put it in his bag,” Connor answered for the two of them. “Saw you do it when he went out to take a piss. Or did ya forget?”

“I didn't forget nothing! And I didn't give him nothing, either!”

Joe stepped in, then, looking to Len with eyes that were very unkind, “Whoa whoa whoa. Now... You're saying you think Daryl stole your rabbit half and these boys are saying you gave it to him while he was out. Either they're lying... or you are. Not for giving him the rabbit, o' course. But for saying you didn't.”

“I ain't lying,” Len met Joe's eyes before looking at the brothers and then to Daryl, “They is.”

Joe nodded, turned to face the brothers as he gave a look to the rest of the group, “Well then...” With Len's guard dropped as it was, the sudden punch Joe gave him sent him to the floor. He rubbed his fist as the others closed in, “Teach him a lesson, gents. He's a lying sack of shit. I'm sick of it. Teach him all the way.”

Daryl eyed Joe from behind the brothers and Joe squinted between him and Murphy for a second before shaking his head. Like he was clearing the cobwebs out. Then he licked his lips and shrugged as he walked off, “I saw him do it, too.”

The brothers rolled their eyes and turned around to a wary Daryl. He was standing in place but not standing still. His gaze flicked between them and the retreating back of Joe. But they were the ones that had been the friendliest, seemed willing to help. So they were the ones he asked, “Why didn't you try to stop him?”

Connor looked to Murphy and Murphy looked to Connor before they answered in unison, “Didn't know we should.”

That got a snort out of Daryl and a shake of his head before he opened the front passenger door and tossed his bag in. He hesitated before climbing inside. Just long enough to glance up at them and say a soft 'thanks.'

Len continued to be beaten well into the night.

 

_That our feet may swiftly carry out thy command_

 

Daryl woke up to the sound of the building door being pulled open. He was groggy and a little cold. And when he looked around, he found the brothers staring down at him intently from the back seat.

“Mornin'” Connor grinned as Murphy waved.

“Me brother, he thinks you look like me,” Murphy said, getting right to the point. The two hadn't noticed the resemblance until after Daryl was asleep and his face relaxed. He was so tightly wound and alert when he was up and about, it wasn't until he'd basically passed out from exhaustion that his body finally found a momentary peace. Just long enough for the two to get a really good look.

“Aye,” Connor was nodding now as Daryl stared, stuck somewhere between needing to get up and not sure if he wanted dignify the statement with a response. The two took his silence as an invitation, though, and Conner went on, pointing at his brother's mouth. “Ya even got the damn beauty mark over ye lip.” Murphy put his finger on his 'beauty mark' just so Daryl knew what they were talking about.

“It's uncanny is what it is,” Murphy finished the thought and dropped his hand to pull out a cigarette. He lit it quickly, took a puff, and passed it to his brother. “I already got me a twin brother. I don't know if I like the idea of havin' a doppleganger, too.”

“Maybe they cloned ya in prison, brother,” Connor suggested and got a playful cuff to the back of his head in return. “What? They could of. See it in the movies all the time. Well... used to anyway.”

Daryl didn't quite tense up at the prison mention, but he did start to slowly pull himself out of the car. The brothers took the hint well enough and opened up their own doors to step out. They were already ready to get going. They'd been waiting on him.

Daryl was next to last out of the building. The brothers following up on his heels and pulling the door shut behind them. When they turned to follow the rest, they were a little surprised to see Daryl still there. Just standing at the edge of the landing and looking down. They joined him, standing a little further down, and leaned against the rail. Once more waiting for him, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

On the ground below them lay Len's body. Beaten. Bloody. One of his own arrows through is eye.

“Not going to say the man didn't deserve it, but not for that,” Connor winced and shook his head.

Daryl glanced their way before looking around the landing. He was just a little frantic about it, as if he was unsure of how to handle this. When he spotted the dropcloth, he set his things down to pick it up. He was halfway through shaking it out when he stopped.

Murphy was the one to reach out and take one end of it when he realized Daryl was about to just drop the thing. It didn't sit well with him for the man to stop half-way through giving the dead bastard a proper burial shroud. With their similarities, it was almost like watching himself give in to a loss of faith. And he couldn't have that.

Connor slipped under the rail and to the ground. He folded Len's arms over his chest and gave a quick prayer, crossing himself. Daryl broke out of whatever funk had stalled him and knelt down so his end of the makeshift shroud was as close to the ground as possible. Murphy followed suit. When the cloth fell, Connor was the one to straighten it out and tuck it in properly. Securely. They couldn't give him a burial or even the fee for the ferryman, but they could at least make sure he was covered for what little funeral he had.

Daryl didn't speak when they were done. He just picked up his things and headed after the others. The brothers did the same.

Joe watched them, chewing at his lip. The twins he knew were religious freaks. They'd made that clear within minutes of joining. 'A sign from God' and all that bullshit. But he hadn't pegged Daryl as the sort. It mostly caused him to shake his head and sigh. He had nothing against God. He just didn't think it was worth the effort to head those rules anymore.

Later on, Joe had more of a reason to be both frustrated and pleased with the inroads the brothers were making with Daryl. Pleased because Daryl finally seemed to get the rules as he called out 'claimed' for a bunch of radishes growing along side the road that Tony had obviously spotted first, but had failed to claim. Frustrated because the first thing Daryl did after grabbing them was offer to share them with the brothers. After a minute of chewing on it in his head, he decided Daryl was probably just paying the two back for the shared bed space the night before. Daryl had struck him as a man who didn't like owning anyone anything.

 

_We shall flow a river forth to thee_

 

“Joe!” Daryl came around the truck with the twins flanking him. They're in a perfect position to see the two on the ground - one man, one woman – stare at Daryl like they'd seen a ghost. “Hold up.”

“You're stopping me on eight, Daryl,” Joe sighed, giving him a pointed look. Like Daryl had just stolen his candy.

Their new friend moved forward, putting himself between two of the Claimers (Harley and Billy it looked like at a glance) and the people on the ground. He nodded at Joe and spoke softly, “Just hold up.”

“This is the guy who killed Lou, so we got nothing to talk about,” Scruffy (Harley) bit out, annoyed at the delay.

But Joe shook his head, “The thing about nowadays is we got nothin' but time. Say your peace Daryl.”

Daryl met his eyes, voice still low, “These people. You're gonna let 'em go. These are good people.”

“Now I think Lou would disagree with you on that,” Joe said in a slow drawl, his gun pressing a little harder into the man's forehead. “I'll of course have to speak for him and all, cause your friend here strangled him in a bathroom.”

Connor and Murphy moved to flank Harley and Billy, sharing a look over the other two men as they held their guns at the ready. They knew what had happened to Lou from what Joe and the others had said. But they liked Daryl. Daryl was a good man.

“You want blood. I get it.” Daryl breathed out and dropped his bag, his crossbow, to the side. His brought his arms up in offering, “Take it from me, man. Come on.”

The look Joe gave Daryl told the twins all the needed to know. Before Joe said a word.

“This man killed our friend. You say he's good people,” Joe's hand tightened on the man's shoulder and he glared at Daryl like he'd just been punched in the gut, “See that right there... is a lie.”

Everyone knew what was coming then.

“It's a lie!”

Daryl didn't have a chance to get a word out as the Harley and Billy closed in on him, knocking him to the side and then to the ground with the butts of their rifles.

“Teach him fellas. Teach him all the way.”

Murphy looked to Connor and Connor to Murphy. They didn't for one second believe they couldn't handle winning a fist fight between the three of them and the others. But there was a woman being held at gunpoint. Getting into the middle of it while she was still being threatened for the man's crime could put her in more danger than their code allowed.

 

_And teeming with souls shall it ever be_

 

They stood there, indecisive, until Dan opened the passenger door of the the van and pulled someone out of it.

The man Joe had a hold of tried to rise, voice desperate, “You leave him be.” But Joe forced him to his knees again.

It wasn't Dan's knife to the kid's neck that made the twins act, though. It was how he leaned in and licked the kid's ear. _Licked it._ Like he wanted to have sex with it and whoever owned it.

The brothers had both their guns up and aimed at the the others, pulling the safeties back in unison, before things could go any further. The combined sound was loud enough to draw all attention their way. Joe and Tony looked over to see Murphy with his guns aimed for them. Dan had one of Connor's trained on his head while the other was in the general direction of the group kicking Daryl where he lay on the ground.

“Let them go.” They said it at the same time, in the same tone, their voices one with their decision. The man they'd tracked might still be worth killing, but the would-be child molester was more their concern.

None of the others moved, save Harley and Billy, who held a struggling Daryl to the ground. Joe's gun remained where it was as he leveled an annoyed glare at the twins, “What are you two fellas doing? You know the rules. We have to make him pay for what he did to Lou.”

“There weren't no mention of rapin' a child,” Connor bit out and Murphy followed immediately with, “That kind of evil has no place in the world.”

Joe sighed and his shoulders dropped almost theatrically, “We have to square up somehow. We make him suffer the way we suffered. Or as near as we can.”

“[On three?]” Murphy asked quickly in Irish, no longer willing to keep talking to Joe.'

His brother answered with a nod and an 'Aye' as the two lowered their guns, taking a deep breath.

Joe smiled, thinking for a moment they'd seen things his way. He opened his mouth to thank them and -

“Three!” The twins shouted at the same time, guns raising back up as four quick shots were made.

Joe was hit in the right shoulder, his hand spasming from the impact and knocking him backward. It gave the captive man the opening he needed to scramble away and grab the dropped pistol. Tony was hit in the left shoulder so he was thrown back in the same way as Joe, giving the woman room to dive for her sword. Harley and Billy were shot through the chest. Possibly the heart. Connor didn't really care. They would die soon enough and they weren't the one who was going to be put on his knees.

Dan didn't get shot. The angle wasn't good for either of the twins and they didn't want to hit the boy. The knife to the kid's throat was all that kept him from being killed by the man and woman, as well.

Murphy and Connor moved forward as one, stepping between the man and woman to incapacitate Joe and Tony. They were allowed to live for the moment. They just wouldn't be able to do anything.

“Hey, make sure they don't crawl off, will ya?” Connor asked the woman as he and Murphy made their way to Dan. The man was already as close as he dared to be, gun up. Dan, of course, was using the kid as an effective shield.

“I wasn't gonna do nothing,” the bastard tried lying as he stood and dragged the kid up with him. “Let me go and I won't hurt him.”

The man's gun raised with the twins' and Daryl joined them with his crossbow. He didn't say anything, but his eyes kept going to the man, like he was waiting for orders.

The twins registered this, but they didn't process it right away. They had other business to deal with.

“Let him go, and we kill you last.”

“Do it right quick, too.”

“Just a couple bullets to the back of the head.”

“We'll send you ta whatever God you want.”

"We're nice like that."

 

_In Nomine Patris_

 

“No,” the man spoke up, voice tight and arm shaking. “He doesn't get off that easy.”

Connor looked away from Dan, to his brother. Murphy was already looking at him. He shook his head and Connor rolled his eyes. Then he said, “Let us do this for ya. When he lets your kid go, he's gonna need you. And you'll need him.”

Murphy nodded next to him, “We'll make sure to do it right. We've done it before.”

There was silence for a long time before Daryl's voice broke it with a quiet, pleading, “Rick.” The man sucked in a ragged breath and broke eye contact with Dan, looking too Daryl. Daryl had dropped his crossbow and was holding one hand up, “Let them do it.” 

Whatever passed between the two seemed to break something in Rick and he stepped backward, gun down, watching the twins and Dan and his son.

“Now,” Murphy addressed Dan. “Let him go and you die last. Nice and quick. You're gonna die no matter what you do. But you don't have to die all in one go. We're giving you that option.”

“It's not one many get,” Connor finished.

Dan looked like he was seriously thinking about pulling his knife across the kid's throat for a single, terrifying second. But then he dropped the knife and the kid pulled himself away, running straight for his father. His sobs were muffled by his head against Rick's chest, but they still seemed too loud in the still of the night.

“That's good little lamb to the slaughter,” Conner grinned and flicked his gun to indicate Dan should stand up. “Move over there. In the middle of the road. Then get on your knees and put your hands behind your back.”

As Dan did so, Murphy grinned to Daryl, “Watch him for us, will you? We have a couple of other bastards to take care of first.”

 

_Et Fili_

 

The twins had killed Joe and Tony in front of Dan. They let him see a taste of what was in store for him. The ritualized way they pulled their roseries out of their shirts and mumbled a prayer together was probably the creepiest thing anyone watching had seen. Counting the dead coming back to life and trying to eat faces. It was disturbing and made several stomachs twist at the sick irony of it.

They didn't stop at the prayers, though. After executing Joe and Tony with a single shot each – under the chin so it passed through the brain – they laid their bodies out and crossed their arms over their chests. Billy and Harley's bodies were dragged over to join them. Daryl had taken care of the headshots already so the two didn't have to. Another prayer was given. It didn't take long, but it felt like hours.

When the others were cared for, they came for Dan.

Murphy went to stand on his right and Connor on his left. They each set a gun to the back of his head. And then they spoke a prayer together. If it was the same prayer they'd said for the others, no one else could tell. The other prayers had been silent.

 

_Et Spiritus Sancti_

 

The words were the last thing Dan ever heard. He died with the thought that maybe it would have been better if they killed him first.


	2. A Sign From God (Pre-series/Season 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Brothers and Eunice are picked up by T-Dog and Glenn.

“It's a bloody sign from God if I ever saw one,” Connor laughed, turning and offering his hand to help Eunice over the concrete barrier that had been put up days ago to redirect traffic. Murphy had his hand up, too, the boys doing the gentlemanly thing. It was something she appreciated about the boys. They were some of the politest men she'd ever known. Knew how to treat a woman with proper common decency.

She didn't need their help to get over the barrier, of course. And they knew that. But it was the principle of the matter. And she certainly wasn't going to complain about the proper escort they willingly gave her at the drop of a hat.

“I'll take your word for it,” Eunice said with a thin smile and a tilt of her head. Not even a week since the state of emergency had been declared and most of the refugee centers across the country had devolved in much the way Atlanta had. The only good to come of the chaos so far was that no one stopped to check her clearance once she flashed her badge. No one had the time or care to make their way through the red tape. They wanted someone to be in charge and it not to be them.

It had made getting the brothers out of the detention center they'd been transferred to much easier than it would have been otherwise. Sadly, that blessing came at the expense of hundreds of thousands of lives and a country quickly falling apart. At least she was with two of the best people in the world to be stuck with as the government crumbled and the dead literally walked the earth. She hadn't ever been much of religious woman, but this was making her believe a little more every day it kept going on.

“It is. In big, bold letters, even,” Murphy agreed with his brother, throwing his arms out as if to frame the words on the side of the van that was sitting parked outside an apartment building. It had pulled up only minutes before and a man had jumped out, calling for someone inside the building.

Holy Cross Lutheran Church.

Eunice shook her head, but tucked each of her arms into the boys' as they crossed the street toward it, “Would have thought it'd need to be Catholic to count.”

“Oh, no,” Connor refuted in that polite tone he took so easily. He and Murphy were always willing to educate and explain about God's ways to her. They knew her faith wasn't strong, but they wanted to encourage any spark of it that there might be. “It don't matter the exact specifics of the faith in times like these. Just that we can see God's path for us shining through.”

“Aye, he's right. God provides, you just have ta leave ya eyes open,” Murphy agreed, letting go of Eunice's arm to take point and run up to the side of the van and look inside. “Look at this. The bastard has enough food and water to last weeks holed up somewhere.”

Said bastard came rushing out of the building's front door just then, an Asian kid in tow. He was a black man, big, looked capable. He slowed up when he realized there were people gathered around his van. The Asian kid hung back, staring wide-eyed before asking, “T? Someone you know?”

'T' (apparently) shook his head and swallowed some air before licking his lips. He was clearly unsure what to do about the three. Murphy coming around one side and Connor with Eunice on his arm coming around the other.

Eunice smiled brightly, “Good afternoon, gentleman. The boys and I here were wondering if we could join you in wherever you're getting off to.”

The Asian kid looked between them, then to T when the black man turned to look at him. He was clearly still processing this. Hadn't been expecting anyone around but his friend.

She let go of Connor's arm and stepped forward, holding a hand out to shake, “Eunice Bloom. FBI.”

“Uh... T-Dog. I mean, Theodore Douglas,” T answered, blinking his way out of his shock and reaching out to take her hand. “But my friends call me T-Dog. Uh... this is Glenn.”

Glenn gave a small wave and a tentative smile, “Hi.”

“Great ta meet ya. T-Dog,” Murphy snickered, unable to take the nickname seriously. “Howl's the prowl?”

Connor broke down in a fit of giggles with his brother, leaning on him as Murphy finally got back to his side.

“Ignore them,” Eunice said before T-Dog could dignify the joke with a response. Then she flipped her hand from one side to the other and introduced them, “Connor. Murphy. We'd appreciate a ride out of the city, if you're providing.”

“Can't you get one?” Glenn asked and realized in the next second he'd said it out loud. The widening of his eyes as he found everyone looking at him gave it away as a slip of the tongue. “I uh... I mean, you're FBI, right? Couldn't you get like, access to a tank or something?”

“Oh fuck, could you?” Murphy slid into her field of vision, grinning like a fool.

“Are you nuts? We couldn't all fit into a tank,” Connor interrupted and drew Murphy into one of their arguments that Eunice had learned to tune out. She kept her attention squarely on T-Dog and Glenn.

“Unfortunately, no,” she answered. “While I am certainly above the local police in clearance, I am not above the military command. The boys and I are rather low priority. Particularly when it comes to getting people _out_ of the refugee center.”

T-Dog shared another look with Glenn before shrugging and staring past her to his van, “I've got about fifteen more stops to make today. Church members. Been trying to find them and friends and get them out if they want to go.”

“That's very kind of you,” Eunice said. And the sentiment was genuine. “The boys here, they saw your van pull up while we were down the block and they said it was a sign from God.”

T-Dog looked like he was stuck somewhere between laughing and crying at that. He shook his head, “Naw. My van isn't a sign from God. Whatever this thing going around is... that's the sign from God. And I can tell you, it's not a good one.”

Eunice didn't answer that. She waited until the side door was opened before calling out to the brothers, who were still engaged in their stupid argument, “Boys? Would you be so kind as to help a lady into the van?”

The two broke apart, sharing grins (because they could never stay mad at each other, one of their most endearing traits), and jogged over. Murphy slid in first as Connor held his hand out for Eunice to catch her balance on. She knew it must look like they waited on her hand and foot to T-Dog and Glenn, and that was the intention: make anyone they came across think she was the brains and they were the very dumb brawn.

As the van pulled away and Glenn turned around to stare before asking the questions she knew was coming, Eunice allowed herself to relax. The end of the world seemed to be upon them and she'd managed to get herself a ride out of the worst of it with two of God's greatest artists willing to watch over her. In the back of her mind she conceded that maybe the van was a sign sent from the heavens.

 


	3. Messing Around (Pre-Series/Season 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The brothers stumble on the Quarry Camp and decide to fuck around.

“Let's fuck with 'em,” Murphy grinned and covered his mouth as Connor waved to the group at the top of the rise. They'd followed a car down the switchback and had spotted the RV with it's lookout. Obviously there was a camp.

Connor kept his arms up, smiling and waving excitedly, “What? Why? They probably have food. Water. We need that shit.”

“'m not saying we don't. Or that we're really mean or anything. But they don't know we speak English.”

There was second of silence before Connor was cracking up next to him, “So what do we speak?”

“Spanish, aye?”

“This far south? Someone's got to speak it.”

“French, then.”

Further conversation was cut off as one of the men of the camp was close enough to be heard calling, “Hey! Hello!”

“BONJOUR!” the brothers shouted back, laughing as the man with the poofy hair cringed.

He was hurrying up to meet them at that point, one hand out making a lowering motion, “Not so loud! Keep it quiet. We don't know if there are any walkers out here.”

The twins shared a look. Murphy spoke first, “Marcheurs? Pensez-vous qu'ils signifient la morte?”

“Oui. Ils doivent. Quel autre pourrait-il être?” Connor shot back, smile widening as he saw the man slowly realize they weren't speaking English. As if the jovial 'bonjour' hadn't given it away.

“Uh... do either of you speak English?” The man asked.

“Oh! Oui oui! Anglais,” Murphy nodded enthusiastically, then leaned forward expectantly. “Pensez-vous que se cheveux est naturellement que les grandes? Ou veut-il taquiner?”

Connor put his arm around his brother like Murphy had asked something as obvious as 'Can we join your camp?' or 'Do you have any food to spare?' and not ' _Do you think his hair is naturally that big? Or does he tease it?_ '. He answered while staring at the man, “Si il taquine, je vais manger ma chaussure.”

The man cringed and was obvious about trying to hide it as he nodded slowly, then switched to shaking his head, “Yeah... no. I have no idea what you just said. Uh... Let's try something uh... Shit.” He dropped his hands to his hips, pressed his lips together, shook his head again, then turned around and waved them to follow him up.

“Merci!” the twins yelled, laughing at the way he tried to shush them again. They did quiet down, but their conversation didn't cease. Commentary on the old man on the roof, the mousy woman at the fire, the skinny one with the boy attached to her hip, the big one leaning over a motorcycle, and the various sundry inhabitants spilled out as easily as water.

The man leading them in gave a sharp whistle, which cut their words short and had the rest of the camp stopping to look at him. He waved to everyone, smiling, “Sorry to interrupt, but these two, they don't speak English. I think it's uh... French?” He turned to look at them, “Uh... speak Francais?”

“Oui!” they answered, laughing. Connor elbowed Murphy, “Pas muet comme il regarde.”

The man nodded and turned his attention back to the group, “Anyone here speak it?” When there was no answer, he called out, “Morales? You think you might be able to cobble something?”

“Why would I be able to?” The man in question asked like the other man was nuts.

The leader shrugged, “I don't know. I was told French and Spanish were similar.”

“Not _that_ similar!”

“Ha! Quelqu'un ne parle espagnol!” Connor slapped Murphy in the chest with the back of his hand.

He got a look, but barely had time to start his reply before Morales called out, hopeful, “Sí. Español. ¿Me entiendes?”

The brothers looked to each other and had a short, quiet conversation that ended with them looking back and nodding. They jogged across the space and Connor held his hand out, “[Sure can. Can understand hair boy over there, too. Even told him so.]”

“[Of course, we told him that in French],” Murphy finished while Morales stared at them. After a second of silence, Murphy clapped a hand on Morales' back, “[Wanna help us fuck with him?]”

“What are they saying?” The man called out.

Morales held a finger up, silently asking him to wait while he returned his attention back to the two men, considering it, “[Define fuck with him.]”

“[Nothing bad. Just something stupid.]” “[Oh! You could tell him we're escaped convicts!]” “[That would be stupid! We don't need him thinking that.]” “[But it'd be funny.]”

“[He's a cop. He has a gun],” Morales cut in.

The two looked at him, at each other, then shrugged and pushed their coats back to pull their twin barrettas out, answering in unison, “[So do we.]”

“Whoa whoa whoa!” the man yelled, his own gun up and out at what looked like the two man threatening Morales.

It got worse when Murphy put an arm around the man's neck and pressed a barrel to his forehead, “[Just play along. We aren't going to hurt you.]”

“[It sure feels like you are.]”

“[It's all in good fun],” Connor laughed and put his guns away. He reached over and slapped Murphy on the chest. “[Come on. He's not gonna play. Let him go.]”

Murphy rolled his eyes, but let go of Morales and put his guns away. He glanced over at the leader, “[Tell him to put his down.]”

Morales looked between them before meeting the man's eyes, “It's okay, Shane. They were just joking around.”

“Joking around?” Shane asked incredulously, not ready to drop his gun.

“[Tell him we haven't seen anyone living in weeks.]””[Yeah. We're excitable. Oh! Tell him we're government agents!]””[FBI! We knew a couple of great people from there. We could fake it.]”

“They haven't seen alive in while,” Morales answered before giving them a glare and walking away. “And they speak English just fine. They're just messing with you.”

“[Oh come on!]” Murphy whined, hands out to his side.

“[You fuckers held a gun to my head!]” Morales shot back and from behind him a woman's voice called, “[What did you just say?]”

Murphy put his hands to his mouth and Connor sucked in a fake gasp as he waggled his finger, “Language, Morales. Language.”

Morales flipped them off, making sure to hide the action from the kids that had just appeared in the small tent forest. Once he turned around, he didn't look back and the twins were stuck with a glaring Shane and the glares of many others still watching. The guy at the bike was smirking, though.

“So you can speak English,” Shane bit out, gun down, but at the ready. “You think this is a time for joking around?”

They shrugged, “If it's not, it'll never be.” “Ye have to have fun when you can.” “Specially in times like these.”

Shane wasn't buying what they were selling, “You got names?”

“Murphy.”

“Connor.”

“Well... Murphy. Connor,” he pointed to the road they'd come up. “You two can go.”

“Shane!” the old man admonished as he headed toward them from the RV. “You can't make them leave. It's dangerous out there.”

“They have guns. Which they just put to Morales' head. _As a joke._ They can't stay.”

“It weren't loaded,” Murphy offered, pulling the gun in question out and pulling out the empty clip. “Ran out two days ago. Me brother's only got, what? Five bullets left?”

“Four.”

The old man made a face, “See? They weren't putting him in real danger. And they can't take care of themselves alone. They need a camp. I'm not saying I like what they just did, but we can't just... toss them to the wolves. It's inhumane.”

“Yeah, Shane,” Connor tossed a hand out. “Let bygones be bygones. We'll be good.”

Shane was quiet for a time, then shook his head, “No. No. I don't trust them. Sorry, Dale, but no.”

“You don't trust the Dixons, but you let them in,” the old man, Dale, hissed softy waved toward the man at the motorcycle – who was still watching.

“Daryl brings in food,” Shane answered quickly. “I don't like them, but they pull their weight.”

“We'll pull our weight, too,” Connor piped up, putting an arm around Murphy's shoulder. “We used ta do all kinds of hard labor back before. Meat packing plant. Warehouse.”

“We were shepherds for a while, too,” Murphy joined in. “Before coming over the second time. Back in Ireland.”

Dale's eyebrows rose, “You're from Ireland?”

“Aye. Was. Few years back,” Connor nodded. “The second time. We were meaning to go back, but we hadn't the funds for it before all this went on.”

“Family's all gone,” Murphy continued. “It's just me and Connor, now. We got no where else ta be.”

“We was just messing with you. We're sorry for the trouble. We jus'hain't seen anyone for a while. 'Cept each other.”

“An' living with him day in day out, it's enough ta drive a man crazy.” Murphy got a cuff to the back of his head for that one, but he just laughed. It was an old joke and even if he wanted to push his brother into a fight, they really needed Shane to believe they were safe to keep around. He could start in on his brother once they'd been approved.

Shane shut his eyes and sighed, putting his gun up before running his hands through his hair and over his head. Then he nodded, “Fine. They can stay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> French Conversation isn't anything important, but it's basically: "Walkers? Is that what they're calling the dead?" "Yeah. Has to. What else could it be?"//  
> "Think his hair is like that naturally? Or does he tease it?" "If he teases it, I'll eat my shoe."//  
> "Not as dumb as he looks."//


	4. O Brother Who Art Thou (Pre-Series/Season 1, 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl was the name he took seven years ago while he waited for them to get Connor out.

He hated Merle. The man was nothing but a coked up mess masquerading as a human. The exact kind of filth God had given him permission to kill for the greater good of the world. He was genuinely racist and not just throwing slurs around because that's how things were done and said in Boston. In Georgia, they were meant to be insults.

Worse yet, the fucker was ex-army. Sniper, even. He had the kind of training that made him genuinely dangerous to others if he ever decided to do something about his prejudice. Which he often did. He was in and out of holding cells more often across the last seven years than Murphy ( _Daryl, name is fucking Daryl now)_ had ever been in his life. A disgrace is what it was.

...

“ _What makes ye think he'll go along with it?”_

“ _You look like his brother. A little cleaner around the edges, but enough you could pass at a glance.”_

“ _So?”_

“ _So, his brother died a year ago. Hunting accident. Shot through the chest just below his collarbone. Merle couldn't get him to a hospital soon enough and has been a drugged up mess since. He's so addled that if you show up with a scar and talking the right way, he won't know the difference.”_

“ _And my tats? Me being Catholic? The fact that I don't know a thing about their past?”_

…

He liked Merle. Despite the drugs and the jail time, Merle stuck by him. He often wasn't there and often got himself into a lot of shit, but he checked in at least once a month. He looked out for his 'baby brother'. Sent him money when he could. Smokes, too.

Daryl ( _Murphy, can't forget who I really am)_ mostly stuck to the backwoods near their father's house in the mountains of northern Georgia. Kept to himself and the family that had crawled out of the woodwork when he showed back up like he had never been gone. Merle stuck around long enough to introduce them and give a pointed threat to their father that Daryl pretended he didn't see. He wasn't a great brother, but he watched out for him.

…

“ _Easy. Memory problems. A shot like that, with as much blood as was lost? It's believable.”_

“ _And the rest?”_

“ _Lots of people find religion after a traumatic experience. And tattoos aren't uncommon to the crowd we're looking at putting you with.”_

“ _I'd rather not, if it's all the same to you.”_

“ _You just broke out of the Hoag. A month after going in. You need to go to ground.”_

“ _I need to get back to me brother.”_

…

Merle hadn't accepted his 'return' as easily as Smecker and Bloom had thought he would. He'd ranted and raved, thought he was seeing a ghost. Why he thought it was smart to punch a ghost, Murphy ( _Daryl, it has to be Daryl now)_ would never know. If he had been a ghost, Merle's fist would have just gone right through him. 'Cept he wasn't and it didn't. He knew the guy was strong, but _Good Lord_ that had hurt.

The man stopped right after that, Daryl cursing him out and spitting blood. He was lucky he didn't lose a tooth. Said as much and had expected the man to keep coming at him. But Merle just stared, eyes wide. Murphy expected that if he ever lost Connor and suddenly got him back, he'd look a lot like the man standing over him.

…

“ _They've already transferred him to a different prison. He'll be in solitary for at least a year. Even priests won't get to see him.”_

“ _You got me out!”_

“ _You weren't in solitary. And we had men on the inside. We don't have that for him yet. We're not even sure where he's been moved to.”_

“ _You want me to just leave him there? For how long?”_

“ _As long as it takes. We've already got Duffy and Dolly looking into the details. Their curiosity won't be suspect. Not with how involved they've been in your cases and Greenly's death. Most people think they have a personal vendetta against you over that. We can use it. But we have to be careful. Take our time.”_

“ _You have to be patient.”_

…

It took almost two months for Merle to finally accept him as Daryl. And when he did it was like a floodgate had opened. Whatever Murphy told him about the tattoos and the conversion from Baptist to Chatholic and even the memory loss, Merle just ate it right up. He took the time to learn about who his brother was now.

And he took the time to teach Murphy who Daryl used to be. All the hunting they used to do together. How their mother died. How good Daryl was at school while Merle got himself put in and out of Juvie before joining the army as soon as he turned 18 just to get away from their father.

…

“ _...can I write to him?”_

“ _Once we find out where he is, yes. But you can't tell him where you are or that you're his brother. His letters will be read ahead of time.”_

“ _Then how am I gonna let him know I'm alright? For all he knows I got shot and 'm bleeding out in the gutter!”_

“ _...”_

“ _I can't let him think I'm dead.”_

“ _You can tell him you're a fan. Someone that has a brother and knows how important they are. That you admire him. You guys might not know it, but you have a large following that reaches across the country. People like you.”_

“ _Oh we know. We've met some. They were fuckin' annoying.”_

…

Merle thought he was fucked in the head when he first found out he was writing to a Boston Saint. Called him a fag, Darleena, pushed him around for his 'celebrity crush'. He backed down after Murphy had enough of playing the submissive and contained younger brother and lashed out. He didn't take his brother yelling back at him like that very well. Flinched before he could get control of himself. Like he expected to be hit.

Daryl had backed down when he saw that. He'd seen it in others before. Abuse victims, mostly. He'd apologized for the outburst and Merle got on his case for being a pussy before leaving the house. He was gone for a week before Daryl found out he'd gotten himself put in the county lock up for drunk driving. He called for a ride back home when he got out since his license got revoked.

…

“ _He's fucking blond.”_

“ _He's not blond. It's a light brown."_

_“Looks fucking blond from here.”_

“ _It's just the lighting. And from the other pictures we have, it looks like it's just something it does in the summer. When the sun is on it a lot more.”_

“ _...he doesn't have the mole. I ain't getting rid of that. No one's taking a knife to me face.”_

“ _You don't have to. Plenty of people develop moles later in life. It's not a big deal.”_

…

One year passed into two. And two into four. And four into seven. Letters were exchanged and Daryl knew Connor could tell his 'biggest fan' Daryl Dixon was actually his brother. It was how Connor chose to write to him. Taking the initiative to send him a letter every time he got transferred instead of waiting for the mail to be forwarded.

Keeping the same address was hard because Daryl couldn't really stand his and Merle's father. Or their half-uncle. Or any of the family friends. But he had to, so Connor's letters would get to him. He needed those weekly updates on how he was as the years passed because he couldn't do anything to help. Not without giving himself away.

…

“ _So his brother's never actually been in jail?”_

“ _Nope. He's- You're more quiet than Merle. You're willing to throw down, but you don't generally start fights. You're more of a follower to Merle's lead. Mouthy, though. Sarcastic from the reports we have.”_

“ _What kind of reports have that shit in it?”_

“ _All the good ones. Personality notes are important for profiling. The Dixon family is pretty much the epitome of the redneck stereotype. Merle actively encourages it. He's often a drugged up asshole, but he's smart. He knows how people are going to look at him and he uses that. You'll need to do the same.”_

“ _What? You want me to become some mini-Merle?”_

“ _It wouldn't hurt.”_

…

When the reports started coming in about the sickness and the strange deaths, Daryl sent a letter to Connor MacManus. It wasn't unusual for Daryl to make the offer that if Connor ever came out he could come for a visit. He knew it was stupid to say it because of Connor did get out, the authorities would look there first. Daryl had caught people watching him that weren't his people often enough to know they'd be there waiting. But he had to say it all the same.

The last letter he sent was both an invitation and a warning. If things got too bad and Connor managed to get out, Daryl wanted him going to Atlanta. To the refugee center people kept talking about. That was where he and Merle were headed. Along with most of the people in the small towns near their home. They'd be safe there. They had to be. For Connor's sake.

…

“ _It's just you and me, brother. Ain't no one else gonna care about you. Not in this world. Not now.”_

“ _Shut up, Merle.”_

“ _You can't keep thinking about it. Got to move on. We're all that's left for each other. We got take care of each other. You know that. Tell me you know that.”_

“ _...I know that.”_

“ _Come on, now. Let's see if we can find someone that's got food. Make 'em share it.”_

“ _...yeah. Sure.”_

…

His grief when he heard about Merle wasn't feigned. The tears started before he could stop them and the best he could do was wipe his face and pretend they weren't there while he demanded they tell him where he was. Connor wasn't coming. It'd been two months since things went down. Atlanta was gone. Smecker was gone. Bloom was gone. The only brother he had left was Merle.

It was worse when they found his hand on the roof. It was like getting punched in the gut and stabbed in the heart at the same time. He couldn't stop himself as the high-pitched, panicked 'no's escaped. Over an over again they left him and he didn't know if they were for Merle or Connor or anyone else. Maybe they were for himself.

…

“ _Huntin' in the dark's no good. We'd just be trippin' over ourselves. More people getting' lost.”_

“ _But she's twelve. She can't be out there on her own. You didn't find anything?”_

“ _I know this is hard, but I'm asking you not to panic. We know she was out there.”_

“ _And we tracked her for a while.”_

…

After Merle disappeared the facade started to slip. At first he tried to overcompensate for it, going overboard with his words and accusations. Glenn stopping him from putting the bodies of good people in the fire with his insistence they bury their dead was a god send. A right old-fashioned sign from God that he needed to stay with those folks. They just couldn't know that.

And threatening to kill a good man just cause he was bit? 'No tolerance for walkers' as he'd said. Daryl had never felt more relieved than when Rick pulled that gun on him. Couldn't say as much, of course. He had an act to keep up. He had to be the person they all thought he was. If he just changed all of a sudden none of them would trust him. And he needed them to trust him even if everything they knew about him was based on a lie.

…

 

“ _We took down a walker.”_

“ _A walker. Oh my god.”_

“ _There was no sign it was ever near Sophia.”_

“ _How can you know that?”_

“ _We cut the sonabich open. Made sure.”_

…

He broke down at the church. He couldn't keep it up. He hadn't been inside a house of God in months and it just hit him so hard once Carol sat down to pray. He collapsed into one of the back pews like he used to with Connor. Put his head down and brought his rosary out. He was out of practice, but the prayers came to his mind like he'd said them the day before.

After Carol went to sit with Lori and the rail was empty, he stood. Glenn and Rick, they thought he was getting ready to go. He could see it in the way they looked at him, Glenn holding the handle of his crossbow out for him to take it back. But he couldn't leave yet. He had to finish his prayers.

Daryl walked past, hands cupping his rosary and went to kneel in front of the rail. His eyes slid upward to the thorny crown. He wasn't as silent now, his prayers slipping out in mixed latin and irish. A hushed whisper, but it seemed to fill the otherwise silent church. All eyes were on him. God's eyes were on him.

The tears he hadn't let himself shed finally found their way out of him. He had to choke back a sob as he crossed himself and stood. He leaned for a moment against the rail to catch his balance and try to get control back. But God had him now. God had always had him and he should have looked to that more often in the last months.

Daryl clumsily stepped over the rail so he could fall to his knees directly in front of the cross. His right hand reached out ( _Aéquitas : Justice_ ) to touch the statue's ankle. He took a deep breath, then leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to the wood. He imagined Connor next to him, doing the same. He imagined Merle awkwardly waiting for him hear the back of the church. Both his brothers were gone and now so was a little girl. He needed his faith now more than ever.

When he stood and turned, he found himself alone. The others had left. They were on the steps outside, sitting and standing. Facing away. They'd given him the privacy they thought his moment with God demanded. He didn't know what to think of that. Except perhaps that they were good people. Worth protecting.

Murphy took his rosary and tucked it inside his shirt as he got to the door. Wiped at his face and took the offered crossbow back from Glenn. Took a look around. Sneered and started back across the graveyard. “What the hell are ya'll waiting for? An invitation? We got a girl to find.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This short story has been expanded on since it's first writing. You can find more [Here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4960705/chapters/11391229).


End file.
